


Snuggle: v. to nestle into or draw close to somebody for warmth or from affection

by JDSampson



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Male Slash, Power Play, Slash, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 13:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18522817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: I’ve been writing a lot of heavy stuff, so I thought I’d go for a fluffy, slashy, light one-shot for my Discord pals. This came about because people kept saying they like the snuggle and I couldn't see them as "snuggly" and then it hit me. Enjoy





	Snuggle: v. to nestle into or draw close to somebody for warmth or from affection

 

_Snuggle: v. to nestle into or draw close to somebody for warmth or from affection_

 

“What are you doing?” More scientific curiosity than alarm or concern.

“Snuggling.” Michael wiggled and shifted until his chest was tight to Allen’s back.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Allen.

Michael dropped his arm over Allen’s hip, hand splaying out over the lower buttons of the older man’s pajamas top. “Not ridiculous at all. This is the dictionary definition of snuggling. To nestle into or draw close to somebody for warmth or from affection.”

Another wiggle and a tightening of the arm.

“Which is it?” asked Allen. “Warmth or affection?”

“It’s cold in my bed,” Michael lifted his head and tucked his chin between Allen’s shoulder and neck. “And you’re very warm.”

“I see,” Allen sucked in a long breath causing his flannel pajama top to rub gently over Michael’s bare skin. “So, no affection, then?”

Michael’s fingers worked at the bottom button of the pajama top. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I am somewhat fond of you.”

“I see,” Allen said again.

Michael undid the bottom button then went to work on the one above that.

“You’re letting in a draft,” said Allen. “What exactly are your intentions?”

“I have several options.” Quinn pushed forward with his knee clearing the path to lay his bare leg on Allen’s flannel covered leg. “Still deciding on the final course of action.”

Allan’s hand moved backward making contact with Michael’s bare hip. “You wouldn’t be so cold if you were wearing your pajamas.”

Quinn brought his hand back to cover Allen’s keeping it right where it was. “I don’t own any pajamas. And what kind of word is that, anyway? Pa-jam-as.”

“It’s from the Persian ‘paejamah’ literally meaning leg clothing.”

“Well, then let’s get rid of the shirt.” Michael pulled Allen on to his back, propped himself up on one elbow, then went to work at undoing the remaining buttons.

Allen caught his hand. “Stop.” A potentially volatile, mood-killing word but there was no push behind it.

Still, Michael felt his heart sink. “Stop? As in, I don’t want to do this?” Because if he didn’t want to do this then that would be that. Over. Done. Finito. Pout.

Allen’s eyes narrowed and his head tipped in that way he always did when he was studying something he couldn’t quite figure out. “Leave the shirt.”

“Leave it?” Michael was very confused and verging on very disappointed.

“Leave it alone. Buttoned. On me.”

Disappointment was rapidly turning into a bitter pill. “Okay,” was all he could manage while one side of his brain slapped the other side of his brain for getting this so wrong. He was sure he hadn’t misinterpreted the signals. Yes, it was a little unusual and Allen had been married for twelve years and Quinn had slept with plenty of women but still . . . . to be THIS wrong.

Allen stroked a dry finger over Michael’s collar bone then drew it down the center of his chest. “Leave MY shirt alone, because I like the idea of being covered up while you’re completely bare and open for me to see.”

That sentence was a little convoluted, plus Michael’s brain was sore from the self-flagellation so he wasn’t completely sure that he got it right. “What are we talking, a little power play?” He sat fully upright, one knee close in, the other leg outstretched.

“If that’s how you see it.”

It was Quinn’s turn to put on the dipped eyebrow look. “Or are you hiding your body from me?”

Allen blushed. Actually blushed. “You’re ten years younger, you’re physically fit. You work out. I don’t have your body.”

Michael looked down at himself, noting the rising state of affairs. “I beg to differ on that point.”

“Beg all you like. Now I’m getting cold.”

“No problem.” Michael climbed on top of him, supporting much of his own weight on his arms as they lay on either side of Allen’s shoulders. He let himself look into Allen’s somewhat glassed over eyes then lowered his head to taste the skin of his neck.

“Stop.”

“Again, with the stop? What are you, a traffic light?”

“Off,” said Allen and he gave Michael a little push so there was no misunderstanding.

“You’re taking all the fun out of this, you know that.” Michael sighed, loudly, as he flopped on to his back.

Now it was Allen who sat up. “You’ve been in the military for pretty much your entire adult life, yes?”

“Yes.” Bored and unhappy.

“You’re used to following orders.”

“I am.” Less bored and maybe this wasn’t going where he thought it was going. . .

“Then this should work out just fine.”

“This?” Michael asked, truly not sure what ‘this’ was.

“Put your arms above your head.”

Michael lifted his arms into the air and Allen rolled his eyes. “Not like that. Reach back for the headboard.”

“Oh. Like this.” He followed orders. “Why am I doing this?”

“Because,” Allen drew a single finger down Quinn’s side from his shoulder to his hip bone. “With your arms back like that, it increases the definition of your chest muscles. Plus, I don’t want you to touch me.”

Michael frowned from his lips to his eyebrows. “What if I want to touch you?”

“Don’t care. My rules.”

And that was more stimulating than it should have been. But Captain Michael Quinn was good at following orders, so he followed this one. It wasn’t easy. Allen kept drawing lines all over his body with one finger, then two fingers, then his whole hand. Arms, chest, more attention to the hip bones and when he went lower. . . yikes.

Quinn arched into the touch but that only resulted in Allen taking his hand away. “None of that.”

Quinn dug his fingers into the pillow behind his head to keep his hands from grabbing hold of the imp that was torturing him at the moment. Deep breaths. Lie still.

Impossible.

The fingers began walking again, so close to heaven without so much as an accidental bump.

“You’re trying to kill me, right?” He pressed his head back into the pillow and it felt like his eyes were going to roll back to meet the headboard.

“You’re a fighter pilot. Surely you have control over your own body.” Touch. “Heart rate.” Scrape. “Pulse.” Lips.

A thousand volts shot through Quinn’s body.

Another carefully placed caress of a kiss and Michael was done.

“So much for self-control,” said Allen. “Thought you’d last at least another five minutes.”

Quinn wanted to hit him some snappy, sarcastic retort but his brain was mush. He rolled on to his side because it was easier to breath and felt a second wave wash over him. Now this was ridiculous. Brought to this flushed and spent state with nothing but a few, well-placed touches and kisses.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked in response to a warm body pressing up against him from behind.

“Snuggling,” said Allen. “And not for warmth but from affection.”

Michael laughed softly. He reached back to find Allen’s hip. Skin, not fabric. Huh.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll do something for you.”

Allen’s chin came up over his shoulder. “You’ve already done something for me. You gave me just what I needed.”

Michael was fading but there was one thing he wanted to say. “It wasn’t for warmth, you know.”

“I know.” Allen snuggled closer and they stayed together that way for most of the night.

 

_Bliss: v. to reach a state of perfect happiness, typically so as to be oblivious of everything else._

The End.


End file.
